


The Call

by pastelswitchblade



Category: PRISTIN (Band), SEVENTEEN (Band), Triple H (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate universe - Mafia, Alternative Universe - Call Call Call! (Music Video), Bikers, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gangs, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-05-31 15:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 16,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15122312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelswitchblade/pseuds/pastelswitchblade
Summary: Three gangs run these streets, but only one can reach the call in time. A fair race for the next job. As the roar of motorbikes dins down highways, three strangers roll into town threatening to tear this fragile balance down to it's very foundations.





	1. Prologue: Spare Her

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back, bitches

“Spare the girl, spare her not. Spare the girl...spare her not.”

The petals fell quietly on her chest, each one like fire on her skin. They lit up stark white against mottled red.

“Spare the girl, spare her not. Spare the girl, spare her not.”

She shut her eyes tight. With how hard she was shaking, everything was already a blur. She tasted copper on her tongue, but she was wrung dry of adrenaline. Her ears rang. The second man spoke, but she didn’t hear him. The only thing that came through was the sing-song baritone towering above her.

“Spare the girl, spare her…”

A sharp pain exploded through her brain before everything went black.


	2. Kidz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meet the boiz

Junhui was nearly half asleep before Chan’s voice rang shrill in his ears.

“Why don’t we have a cool gang name?”

The room fell quiet for a moment before Hansol burst out laughing. “What the fuck do you mean?” He managed through wheezing.

“I’m serious!” Chan whined. “No one knows what to call us! Okay, picture this: someone comes rolling through the club. Our club, any club, it doesn’t matter. They’re looking for the shit, right? The good shit! And someone knows us, knows we got it, so they tell them to go find...who-the-fuck? Right?”

“They would use our names,” Junhui drawled. His head was slung over the back of his chair as he sprawled. It had been a long night, far too long, and here they were still posted up in the club's backroom as they counted cash from the night. He couldn’t wait until he could slam a bowl and pass out in bed. Hopefully it’d be before the sun rose.

“The boy has a point,” Joshua mused, and Chan scowled. Partly, surely, because of the word “boy” but mainly because Joshua had a way of sneaking up on people. He was unassuming right up until the point he wanted to be seen. “We have a brand with no name,” Joshua added.

Chan snapped three times. “Exactly! What is Supreme without Supreme? What is an Ape that isn’t bathing?”

Junhui groaned, finally deigning to give Chan some eye contact if it would make him shut up faster. He tossed a hundred band on the table next to the rest. “ Fine,” he sighed. “Then what do you think we should be called?”

Hansol chimed in. “Should we be Vinyl? The Vinyls? You know, something with the club name in it.”

“That’s dangerous,” Jun advised. “Don’t go associating the establishment with crime so loosely. You want cops ‘round here ASAP? Don’t think so. Do better.”

“How about The Hookup?”

“Vague as hell.”

Chan wrinkled his brow. “It’s got to be something super cool. Think about it. The Yankees, right? They’re Yankees! With the hair, and the leather, and the razors... Ain’t nothing cooler than that. And The Daisies? Too cool. They’ve got thing with the…” He shudders. “It’s their thing, right? So what's our thing?” He thinks hard for a second, before snapping again. “I've got it! I've got it! Ha-ha, bitch!” With an unnecessary flourish, he snags a rogue tube of lipstick from the greenroom floor and scrawls his masterpiece across the nearest mirror:

C L U B K I D Z

“What the fuck,” Jun groans, slumping back against his chair.

Hansol bursts into cackles again, falling from his chair. The boy was already a giggle fest on his best day, but at the sight of "CLUB KIDZ," he was lost. Joshua just shook his head with a smile, slowly flipping a page of his book. It made him look infinitely intelligent, but the cover suggested pure erotica.

Chan turned back with a smug grin. “The ‘Z’ let’s ‘em know we mean business.”

That put Junhui over the edge.“You fucking absolute— That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever. Fucking. Seen!” Jun roared. It was sudden, and Chan jumped at the sound. The boy recoiled back into himself, all pinache gone and left with only trauma. Jun bit his tongue. He was just so fucking tired, and all of this was useless to him. He hated yelling, he really did, especially with Chan but he hated staying awake longer than necessary even more.

“I kind of like it.”

Jun whipped around to face Joshua, still seemingly engrossed in his paperback. “You do?”

“Yes.” Joshua finally closed his book and leveled Junhui with a warning glare. “I like it, and I think Chan should be able to use it. I know he’s been dying to get his jacket embroidered.” Chan fingered the sleeve of his trusty bright red leather nervously. “And if you don't like it, you don’t have to use it. Sound fair?”

Jun was too exhausted to fight what would be a losing battle on a full night’s rest. Junhui owned this club, ran this gang, and gave the two kids now fighting over the letter “Z” a place to sleep at night. But he didn’t own Joshua. Joshua was something all his own that Jun still hadn’t figured out after years together. When Joshua Hong had first come to him, it was with two foreign women on each of his arms and a business offer Jun couldn't refuse. Josh brought in every single escort and dancer working out of Club Vinyl with a flash of his smile and a courteous hand. They fell at his feet like dominos, a savior from a life of cardboard boxes and broken needles. He charmed them right into the palm of his hand, until they melted like putty. He turned every dancer they hired into a sometimes sex worker without any complaints from any side.  Club Vinyl would be nowhere without him and he never failed to remind Jun of that fact.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.” Jun muttered. He turned back to Chan. “As long as it brings us business. That's all I care about. You ruin our fucking reputation, and I will end you. You hear me? But if it gives people something to talk about...Fuck. Just be smart.” He slid his satin fringe bomber off the back of his chair and shrugged it on as he stood. "I’m getting some fucking sleep, if you all don't fucking mind. Make sure the money’s counted and in the safe before you leave, so help me God.” He gestured vaguely towards the mirror. “And clean that shit up when your done.”

He lit a joint as soon as he got out onto the street. With a heavy drag, he looked up at the bright neon sign above the main door: _Club Vinyl_. His dream. His baby. His hard work finally paid off in something he could truly own. A club for every misfit, miscreant, and misidentified loser on these streets. A club for people like him.  He scratched at the back of his neck. “The Club Kidz, huh?” He chuckled to himself. “Guess I can work with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone else got a thing for angry Jun? nah? just me? chime off


	3. Dirt Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone pays a visit to the Yankees at Dirt Boy's Barbershop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meet the bois part 2

The bells above the door echoed throughout the barbershop, and Jihoon flinched at the sound. It had been a slow day, so most all of the Yankees were sprawled in the back, with Seokmin out for burgers. Minghao was tinkering with his helmet yet again, adding who knows what kind of gadgets and devices to its interior. After a moment of silence in which every single one of them ignored the bell, Jihoon cleared his throat, looking pointedly at Jeonghan. The man continued to comb his hair back to perfection in the extra mirror. Wonwoo finally smacked his arm, and Jeonghan scoffed. “Fine!” He growled, standing and straightening his leather jacket with a huff. “I’m the only one that actually does any fucking work around here…”

Jihoon rolled his eyes, but the sound of the customer’s voice put him on edge seconds later. He ran out to the front, only to find a walking grin wrapped in a tight black sweater staring back at him. 

“Joshua,” Jihoon snarled.

“Great to see you too, Jihoon.”

“We don’t want any of your  _ business _ here. So get out before I  _ get _ you out.”

Joshua laughed softly. From anyone else, it might sound cute. Out of Joshua, it gave the same feeling as a cursed demon doll. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not here to sell, I’m here to buy. My hair has been…out of hand lately.” He fingered a perfectly quaffed curl. “Could I bother you for a shave and a trim?”

Jihoon narrowed his eyes. “Are you really only here...for a haircut? If you’re looking for other shit, come back when you’ve learned the damn code.”

“God Jihoon, put your dick away. He pointed out the cut and everything in the book. I’ll take care of this, just go…sit on your haunches or something,” Jeonghan whined.

Jihoon almost swung a fist, but decided on a pointed finger at the last second. “Don’t forget that I own this shop. Which means! I own you.  _ Do not forget. _ ” Jihoon backed away from the counter, staring down the both of them with death in his eyes. He wasn’t leaving for Jeonghan. It just wasn’t worth the fight.

Joshua chuckled. “Shall we?” he smiled again. Or rather, the man never stopped smiling. It was starting to grate on Jeonghan’s nerves. He guided the man named Joshua to a chair. The quicker he could get this over with, the quicker he could get paid.

Jeonghan threw a cape over his sweater and angled the chair back to prep Joshua for a shave. He spread shaving cream from cheek to neck, and sharpened his trusty straight blade on a leather strip. Joshua chuckled quietly. Jeonghan caught his eye with a question, but Joshua shook his head. “It’s just such a cliche,” he mumbled. 

Jeonghan was starting to see Jihoon’s side. He shaved the man’s face with impeccable accuracy, to get him to shut up if nothing else. He had to lean over Joshua slightly in order to reach his neck. It was a slightly intimate position on a normal occasion, but Joshua’s eyes burning holes into Jeonghan’s face was making his hands clammy. They sparkled with such obvious mischief, like an otherwise unassuming house cat who’d just taken down the neighbor’s chihuahua.  

After he finished with the shave, he handed Joshua a warm damp towel without a word and began wetting his hair. “You know,” Joshua mused, “Your talents are wasted here.”

“I just gave you the best shave of your life, how can you say that?”

“No, no, a wonderful shave. Really. But you did miss a spot.” Joshua pointed to a spot just above his lip.

“What? No way.” Jeonghan leaned down to get a closer look, and Joshua grabbed him by the chin. Jeonghan immediately flinched away, but Joshua’s grip was too strong. He moved Jeonghan’s face from left to right, examining every feature. Jeonghan finally smacked his hand away. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Checking your credentials. As I thought, wasted here.” Joshua laughed again, as if privy to some joke the whole room had missed. 

Jeonghan clenched his jaw but continued working. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten harrassed for his looks at work, and it wouldn’t be the last. He just needed to get the cut done and get paid. Thankfully the cut Joshua had chosen was one he could clip in his sleep, so all he had to focus on was not stabbing the scissors into the back of the man’s neck.

The two were silent awhile, Joshua’s eyes still fixed on Jeonghan as he worked. Didn’t the man even care what the cut looked like? Joshua finally sighed loudly. “I didn’t mean to offend, really. I’m sorry if I hit a sore spot,” he said.

Jeonghan’s jaw relaxed a millimeter. “It’s fine,” he muttered. “I get it a lot.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay. I’m sorry for grabbing you.” It was almost a whisper, so soft Jeonghan almost lowered his guard. 

“Thank you. Apology accepted, I guess.” 

That seemed to placate Joshua for a bit. He continued to stare, but Jeonghan returned his smile with a weak one whenever their eyes met in the mirror. After a quick blowout, Joshua was finished and Jeonghan dusted him off. “Twenty bucks,” Jeonghan barked. 

“Only twenty?” Joshua shrugged and handed Jeonghan a crisp fifty.

“I’ll get your change,” Jeonghan said as he reached for the bill. But as his hand closed around it, Joshua kept hold of his end and wrapped his free hand around Jeonghan’s. This time, Jeonghan didn’t pull away. 

“Look, I’m sorry again about before.” Joshua leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. “I really am. But I do think you’d be happier...elsewhere. With me.” He smiled wider, something genuine sparking in his eyes beside the wickedness. It was a dangerous effect, and Jeonghan couldn’t look away. No one had looked at him like that since his ex-girlfriend.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, sir. But I need to get your change.”

“Sir?” Joshua smirked. “That’s not bad.” He finally let go of the bill, which made Jeonghan tilt forward just slightly before he caught himself. Joshua smelled of aftershave and something expensive. “Keep the change,” he whispered before winking and waltzing out of the shop. Jeonghan stared down at the 200% tip before something bright caught his eye. He bit at his lip as he slid it out from the bill’s fold: a glossy gold business card for one Joshua Hong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s t e a m y


	4. Flower Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which something goes wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this at one in the morning so I apologize in advance for any NONSENSE

The call never came at a convenient time. If it could be scheduled, predictable, an appointment that could be penciled in between a haircut and dry cleaning, maybe there would be peace. But it was always a surprise, and there was never peace. Seungcheol was sure, by some shady method, that Mother kept her eyes on everything. How else would she choose to call at precisely the moment they were least prepared?

Seungcheol scowled as the altered rotary phone on the table beside him lit up. The room went silent. He had no men even close to that area of town; most all of them were in the room with him at that moment now looking up at him with a knowing thrill in their eyes. He missed feeling that excited at a little red light.

With a wave of his hand, Seungcheol sent five men to the site led by his first lieutenant. If things went south, he wanted them gone quickly. 

After the six left, his remaining men slumped back in their chairs, switched off to the whole thing now. With jobs scarce outside of Mother’s tyranny, the Call trip was the one chance for action in the midst of monotony. With another wave of his hand, Seungcheol ordered a round of soju from the house staff. His men, with weak smiles, slowly gathered to the slick wooden table stretching down the middle of the room. The carpet around it was a lush burgundy, woven with intricate golden accents. Thirteen chairs were placed at near scientific increments around the table, with Seungcheol at the head. His was laced in delicate carvings, worn almost to incoherency with age. It had been with the The Daisies so long, Seungcheol couldn’t even guess it’s age. 

The Daisies were, at their root, a mob family. Seungcheol never tried to deny it, or make excuses. He was quite proud, in fact. He stroked a thumb gently across a jade stone imbedded in the chair’s arm. An organization which needed nothing more than everything their reputation entailed, who thrived in the clouds above society, was nothing to be ashamed of. That must have been what his ancestors thought as they carved stars and celestial bodies into the throne. It was where their leader belonged — why not, when one is among the stars, sit atop the sun?

He looked around to the men who sat with him, sipping quietly at their drinks. They were so careful to match his pace when it came to drinking, it made his fingers itch. Everyone but Soonyoung did, but the fireball of a man was out taking the Call as theirs. They were the ones, the  _ only  _ ones, with any right to it. If it wasn’t for one reckless mistake— 

A shrill ring slammed Seungcheol from thoughts of the past into the otherwise silent room. It was the alert phone, only ever used for matters of the Call. Seungcheol closed one hand around the keys in his pocket before answering. “What’s wrong, Soonyoung?” He asked before the other man could even speak. But the deep laughter that rumbled from the line was not Soonyoung’s. Seungcheol’s grip tightened around the receiver until the old plastic creaked. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Soonyoung,” the voice drawled. “What a cute name for a cute face...Such a shame about it. A fiesty one though, I’ll give you that.”

Seungcheol stood, and his remaining men clammored to their feet. “Who are you with?” he demanded. 

The voice only laughed again. “Why don’t you come find out?”

Seungcheol slammed the receiver down. 

“Did something happen? Where’s Soonyoung?” Seungkwan whispered. He was one of their oldest members, but each mission still seemed to hit him like the first. He was far too soft for this work, yet somehow he always got it done. Then he’d disappear for days at a time, before returning with a smile and his usual playful demeanor. Seungcheol was sure every time he left it would be the last. He didn’t want to know where Seungkwan went that always convinced him to come back.

“Suit up,” Seungcheol barked. “It’s a dirty one.”

The men scattered. With the largest numbers, funds, and means the Daisies nearly always reached the Call first. The payphone it came through was nearest their territory, but still a good ten minute ride away. But sometimes, with the Yankee dogs and druggies nipping at their heels, things went south. Every man was called into action then, to remind the underground who graciously allowed them to continue living. 

Seungcheol mounted his ride in the garage, slamming his helmet on before the door even slid open. He had taken care of plenty dirty runs in the past. But none of them had ever been a problem with Soonyoung at the helm. He sped out of the garage as soon as possible, not even checking that his men were caught up. Something was different here. Soonyoung was ruthless, with more kills carved in his belt than Seungcheol himself. It was harrowing to watch him at work, ripping through men with nothing but a satisfied smirk dancing across his face. Seungcheol was sure that without a steady stream of jobs and the promise of room and board, Soonyoung would one day kill them all. 

Seungcheol skidded to a halt in the abandoned parking garage. He could hear the payphone still ringing. He strode to the phone booth with his eyes ablaze. He took his pistol from his right pocket and loaded a full clip. He took a silencer from his left and fixed it to the barrel. As he reached the phone booth, he swept the area. Something was very different here. He found his men piled together beside their bikes, beaten to bits. They were all alive, but barely. He found Soonyoung with his gun drawn, slumped in front of the rest as a feeble guard. Seungcheol ran to him. His clip was empty.

“What the fuck happened here? Who did this?” Soonyoung coughed, his mouth a bloody mess. No part of his face seemed unbruised. Seungcheol thought back to the caller’s words with a shudder. “Was it the fucking Yankees?” Soonyoung shook his head. “Then Jun’s boys? I didn’t think they had this in them.” Soonyoung shook his head again. He tried to speak, but the swelling from a hook to his cheek had reached his mouth. 

The rest of the Daisies finally arrived, but they weren’t alone. Nine more engines roared behind them, and Seungcheol was quickly surrounded. Five were armed in black leather and rivet spikes, a nail bat slung over the back of a mod chopper. The other four were a gaudy wash of color and metallics, with...was that fringe? Seungcheol groaned. Every member of the Yankees, the dealers from Club Vinyl, and the Daisies gathered around the payphone, still obediently ringing. It made no sense. Why would someone beat the Daisies to the phone, only to abandon the Call? If they weren’t a Yankee or a druggie, how did they even find the location? A storm of thoughts were smeared with red as two familiar figures swung lanky legs off gaudy bikes and strode over to him. 

To his left, Wonwoo slide a hand over slicked back hair, seemingly untouched by his helmet. The Yankees were incessantly sensitive about their hair. Surprising, for such a failing barbershop. Wonwoo smirked, and Seungcheol sneered. The man had a good couple of inches on him, and it was infinitely grating. The man to his left was slightly less towering, and proportionally less of a threat. Jun shook his hair from a candy red helmet and made what Seungcheol assumed was supposed to be a gritty glare. Mussed as he was, he looked more like a sleepy teenager awoken from a nap too early.

Wonwoo sucked his teeth as he looked over the pile of men behind Seungcheol. “Yikes. That looks...embarrassing.” He flashed a wide grin.

“Don’t play fucking dumb with me, Wonwoo,” Seungcheol snapped.

He chuckled. “Trust me, if I could take credit I would. Who ever did, send them our way. I can’t wait to slam every one of you gun-fucking maniacs into the ground.”

“Hey, hey, hey, speaking of those,” Jun chimed in. “I thought we said no guns for these...meetings? I am keenly aware of a barrel pointed vaguely towards my junior.” 

Seungcheol reluctantly holstered his gun. “Neither of you did this?”

Jun laughed beside himself. “We have our moments, but the, uh…” He gritted his teeth. “The  _ Club Kidz _ don’t really make it a habit of making crazy motherfuckers into mincemeat.” 

Seungcheol didn’t have time to laugh, so he packed that one away for later. Nothing felt right, but he wasn’t going to waste breath trying to Sherlock Holmes his was through the past. What mattered most right now was the present. “If neither of you attacked my fucking men, then I guess there’s only thing left to do.” 

In one moment, the three men looked to the payphone still waiting for an answer. In the next, the garage was utter chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a slut for comments, please oblige


	5. Rulez

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone breaks the rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for very slight homophobia

Hansol dared not look away from the older man towering above him. His vision was tunneling, all his energy focused on the silencer barrel aimed steady towards the tip of his nose. Everything was so strangely quiet, so separate from the moment just before. He heard breathing from all around him, so heavy he couldn’t tell which lungs were his. The gun went blurry, and it took him an extra second to realize that he had started to cry.

He heard someone yelling, screaming at the man above him from the arms of another holding him back. It wrenched Hansol back to reality. He didn’t recognize the voice, but with the way it ripped through the air like an animalistic roar, he figured it must be a Yankee. “Seungcheol, don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you fucking do this!”

Somewhere seemingly so far away, Chan was wailing. He wanted so much just to comfort his friend, take Chan away from this. But Hansol couldn't move. He was so exhausted, he was sure his heart would stop soon. The barrel moved closer to his face and Hansol closed his eyes. 

“Seungcheol please. He’s just a kid. He’s just Jun’s kid, he has no idea what he’s doing. He’s not worth it.” This voice was closer now, much more composed. A Daisy, probably. Hansol ventured a glance and was strangely proud that he’d guessed right. A stout, shorter man stood with his hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. He looked so wrought with grief for a stranger. It was almost beautiful, Hansol thought, the way his soft cheeks trembled. A second Daisy carefully moved beside him. This one was tall, tanned, toned. The two next to each other looked like a comedy duo. With tears still streaming from his eyes, Hansol began to laugh. It bubbled up from somewhere deep in his subconscious where instinct ruled.

“What the fuck are you laughing for?” Seungcheol asked, but Hansol couldn’t stop. He laughed and laughed, pain pulling at his injuries and panic quick in his heart. But all he had left was laughter. Seungcheol questioned him again, and Hansol laughed louder. All his body had left for him was dopamine and adrenaline mixed in the best high of his life. It was like he was already dead. 

He was laughing so hard he didn’t even notice the gun lower from his face until it was replaced with a hand gripped tight around his collar. “You’re one lucky motherfucker, you get that?” Seungcheol whispered. It was so quiet Hansol barely heard it. “One lucky, stupid,  _ insane  _ motherfucker.” He dropped Hansol to the ground and walked away without another word. Yankees and Kidz screamed at his back, but he didn’t turn around. Hansol’s laughs turned to chuckles until darkness swept over him. The last thing he saw was that soft, round man looking at him with horror in his eyes.

Hansol finally awoke hours later, after Jun had slung him into a taxi to take him back to the club. Joshua and Chan had just finished relaying the extra bikes back to the alley behind the green room. Chan fell to his knees at the couch Hansol was sprawled on. Hansol grinned weakly. “Hey there, Shortstack,” he muttered, and Chan burst into tears. Jun clapped his hand on Hansol’s shoulder, and he smiled up at Jun. “Bossman,” Hansol sighed. He was conscious, but barely. It was like they’d just brought him back from a night on the town, save for the white gauze wrapped around his knuckles, feet, and head. “I got them. I totally beat them. Did you see me? I sent them running!”

Jun swallowed back a lump in his throat. The kid was a wreck. “You did. You’re the man,” he whispered. Jun’s phone vibrated from his pocket. He patted Hansol’s hand and stepped outside into the alley. It was Jihoon. 

“Is your boy okay?” Jihoon was brusk, but Jun knew he meant well. After knowing each other for so many years, he was easy to read.

“He’ll live.”

Jihoon grunted, and the two sat in silence for a while. It felt like something big and sharp was sitting between them, and Jun hated it. They stepped so carefully now.

“I didn’t think...Seungcheol.” The name dripped in angry grief. 

“You couldn’t have known, and neither did I. I can’t say I’m surprised; you saw Soon. He was absolutely wrecked, what were you thinking?”

“Me? What the hell do you mean, what was I thinking? You heard Wonwoo, we had nothing to do with that shit.”

“Oh come on, Jihoon. I know, and we all know Wonwoo doesn’t run the show. It’s your barbershop, and you… us, we’re the same. You obviously ran the hit without Wonwoo knowing to throw ‘Cheol off. Y’all are the ones with nail bats ablaze.”

“I  _ didn’t _ ,” Jihoon hissed. “I would never— I’m not that stupid. I wouldn’t send any number of my guys after Daisies like that, especially with Soon there.”

“Because you’re in love with him?” Jun heard a sharp clatter from the speaker and he chuckled as he realized Jihoon had thrown his phone on the ground. There was another rustling shortly after as Jihoon picked it back up.

“You’re fucking disgusting, you know that? Just because you and all your shitty, fucking, shitty little... _ gays _ at your club, you think everyone is gay!”

“Aren’t you?”

“Fuck you!”

Jun laughed. Making fun of Jihoon never failed to put him in a good mood.

“I don’t give a  _ fuck _ about Kwon Soonyoung, and you know that. Anyway, it wasn’t us and I’m sure it wasn’t your boys who did this. Even though your pimp gives me the creeps. He came in to the shop this week. Tell him never to come back.”

“Noted,” Jun said. “And you’re right, it wasn’t us. Seungcheol had no fucking right pulling his gun on my kid like that.”

“Why did he even have it? He was headed to the location, he must have known the phone was ringing. Which means he must have known we’d be there. He made up the damn no gun rule himself, what the hell was he thinking?”

“Soon must have called him. He knew something was wrong.”

“Or whoever did... _ that  _ to Soon called him. Fuck, I’m not even sure he was alive when we left.”

A taut silence passed between them. “So what does that mean?” Jun finally asked. “Does that mean…”

“We’ve got company,” Jihoon said. “That, or another rogue. Seungcheol would have accounted for that, though.” Jihoon sighed. “I don’t like the smell of this, I really don’t. And I haven’t felt like this since…you know.”

“Your dad?”

“Yeah.”

Jun heard voices calling on the other end of the line. 

“We’ll talk more later,” Jihoon grunted. “Glad to hear your boy’s okay.”

“Thanks. And stay safe, I guess. Whoever we’re dealing with, they don’t give a fuck about our code. Or our lives.”

“Sure.” With that, Jihoon was gone and Junhui stepped back inside. Hansol was sitting up now, leaning heavily on a still sniffling Chan. 

“Who was that?” Joshua asked.

Jun smiled weakly. He put his hand back on Hansol’s shoulder.

“Just an old friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every comment heals vernon's heart


	6. Whiskey Shots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jihoon d r i n k s.

“Who was that?”

“Some fucking asshole. What do you want?” Jihoon rubbed at his temple. It had been a long ass day, and he needed to rest. But here was Wonwoo at his office door, probably full of complaints and lectures. 

“Nothing much,” Wonwoo shrugged. He sat himself in the only other chair opposite Jihoon. Jihoon rolled his eyes. If Wonwoo was getting comfortable, it wouldn’t be “nothing much”. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey from under his desk and poured them each a glass. Wonwoo took a full swig before continuing. “I figured you might want to talk to someone. You know, after what happened.”

Jihoon snorted. “You want me to talk? You sure you don’t want to talk  _ at  _ me first?”

Wonwoo looked pained for a moment, but it left quickly. “We did everything right. We got the job in the end, I have nothing to complain about. I have nothing to say. Except… Seungcheol. Jun’s boy.”

Jihoon downed his glass in one go and poured himself another. “What about it?” he mumbled.

“I didn’t see exactly what happened. Or rather, how it started. But I’ve never seen you lose it like that.”

“I lose it all the fucking time, don’t lie.”

Wonwoo shook his head. “Not like this. Sure you get pissed, I know that all too well. But you looked like you were going to kill him.”

Jihoon closed his eyes. He sat back in his chair and took a deep, ragged breath. “I would have, if you didn’t stop me.”

Wonwoo nodded quietly. If Jihoon said he was going to kill someone, he meant it. “Why? Not why he pulled the gun, but why didn’t he kill that kid? Daisies kill people all the time for Mother, don’t they? When she says, “Make them disappear,” they don’t…they don’t do it the same way we do, do they?”

Gunshots rang out in Jihoon’s memory, and he sipped at his whiskey to wash them away. “No, they don’t.”

“Then why didn’t Seungcheol kill him? He had the shot. Why don’t they just kill all of us?”

“Wonwoo, please not this again.”

“No, I’m serious. They have the firepower, the manpower, and the money to erase every Yankee and Club Kid off the face of this earth. But they  _ don’t _ . They don’t bring guns to the Call, they don’t go after us, they play by all our stupid little rules.  _ Why? _ ”

Jihoon slammed his glass on the table, and Wonwoo clamped his mouth shut. Jihoon seethed, “Those ‘stupid little rules’ are keeping your ass alive.”

“But for how long? Seungcheol pulled a gun today, and he could do it again!”

“It was just because of Soonyoung.”

“Right, because of his precious little  _ murderer. _ ”

Jihoon raised a finger. “You’ll shut up if you know what’s good for you.” Wonwoo complied, for once, and Jihoon sighed. “Look, I understand. I get what your saying. And don’t think for a second I don’t see Seungcheol every night in my god damn nightmares, standing over me with a gun bruised into my forehead. But I also know that would never happen. I just know, okay? And I can’t explain to you why, you just have to believe me.”

“I believe that you’re safe. I believe that Junhui is safe. But I can’t say that for the rest of us.”

Jihoon scratched at the back of his scalp. Wonwoo had a point. Seungcheol would never pull a gun on Jihoon or Jun as long as they all lived. He could swear it on his father’s grave. But with the Yankees and Club Kidz growing, Jihoon barely recognized who he was fighting sometimes. The anonymity made their agreements blurry, and it was only a matter of time before they became guidelines. “If the Daisies take the first shot, it will be their last,” Jihoon said.

“That’ll be too late. Look, I’ve been thinking about some things. A lot of things, pertaining to the future of the Yankees. And I know you hate it, but—”

“No. No fucking way.”

Wonwoo scoffed. “Just one! It doesn’t even have to be loaded! We could keep it in the shop, in your office, the other guys wouldn’t even have to know!”

Jihoon stood, and the desk clattered. “I’m tired of this, and I’m tired of you! If that’s how you want to run this fucking business, then I suggest you pack your bags. I bet the Daisies will take you, with that attitude.”

“Jihoon, please—”

Jihoon put up his hands. “ _ Enough _ . Don’t make me do something  _ you’ll _ regret.”

Wonwoo steeled himself. “I’m not a killer, Jihoon,” he said quietly. “I’m just worried.”

“Don’t be,” Jihoon barked. “Now get the fuck out.”

 

By the time Jihoon made it to bed, he was still too angry to sleep. He lived in the apartment above the barbershop, though the word “apartment” was generous. It was a bare brick studio, barely furnished save for what rock-n-roll paraphernalia his dad had left behind. A candy apple red Les Paul sat untouched in the corner, surrounded by pictures of his dad’s icons. Jihoon had thought about learning to play, but touching the old guitar pained him too much.

When he heard a knock on the door, he was almost glad to have something to do other than stare at the ceiling. Almost. Seokmin stood in his doorway, silhouetted by the dim light of the stairs. “What the fuck do you want?” Jihoon grumbled.

Seokmin swallowed hard but said nothing. He looked down at Jihoon through wet bangs, his eyes wide and empty in the dark. Jihoon sighed. Today wasn’t just rough on him. This was only Seokmin’s second Call run since he’d join the Yankees, and it wasn’t an easy start. “You’ll get sick if you don’t dry your hair after a shower,” he scolded gently, pulling Seokmin inside. Jihoon sat him on the ground at the end of his bed and grabbed a towel from the bathroom. As Jihoon rubbed at his scalp, Seokmin slowly relaxed into him, settling between the smaller man’s thighs.

“I’ve never seen a gun before,” Seokmin whispered. Jihoon stopped. He almost hadn’t heard it. He moved the towel to the back of Seokmin’s neck, patting the moisture that had collected there.

“And?” Jihoon asked. “What did you think of it? Certainly more efficient than our methods, but there’s no art to it. No control. The Daisies don’t know what they’re missing, if you ask me. Hiding behind those things.”

Jihoon felt Seokmin shudder against him. “I hated it.”

Seokmin sobbed, and Jihoon said nothing more. He continued to massage Seokmin’s scalp and neck long after his hair had dried. He rubbed his hands across Seokmin’s back and shoulders until they stopped shaking, then took the towel back to the bathroom to hang it up. He sat on the toilet as he took a few long drags from the flask he hid under the sink. 

When he returned, Seokmin was already curled up under his covers in the tiniest ball he could manage. Jihoon made sure the door was locked again before climbing into bed beside him. He wrapped his small frame around what he could of Seokmin’s back, and finally drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soft gangsters^tm


	7. Fruit Basket

The tequila hit Seungcheol like a bullet train, but it wasn’t enough. The way the boy’s tears rolled over scuffs and bruises stayed sharp in his mind, refusing to drown in the alcohol. He heard someone call his name softly, but he ignored it and drank on, hoping he could pass out before they called again.

“Seungcheol, please.” Seungkwan sounded exhausted enough for the both of them. He carefully laid a hand on his back, but Seungcheol smacked it away.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he hissed, and Seungkwan merely sighed. He sat beside Seungcheol on the floor of the garage, looking out over the bikes in perfect rows. 

“Today wasn’t your fault, you know.”

Seungcheol scoffed. He took a swig from the bottle in his hand and passed it to Seungkwan. He sipped it and coughed, but went back for a second try anyways. “How in the hell was this not my fault? I didn’t see anyone else pull a gun on a fucking kid.”

“It was a wrecked run from the start. With what happened to Soonyoung…” Seungkwan took a long, shuddering breath. “Anything was bound to go wrong.”

“But I made it worse.” Seungkwan didn’t respond, and he was glad for it. He might not have started it, but he most certainly ended it in the worst possible way. 

“His name is Hansol, apparently. And he’s fine. Shaken up, but just as alive as the rest of us,” Seungkwan finally said. His voice rounded slowly around the boy’s name, as if tasting the sound of it in his mouth.

“Where did you hear that from?”

Seungkwan shrugged. “I have my sources.” Seungcheol nodded. Perhaps Seungkwan’s absences were useful then; he had disappeared as soon as they’d left the Call location, returning in the early hours of the morning to find only Seungcheol awake and sprawled in the garage. Whoever he spent his trips with must have information beyond Daisy reach. 

Seungcheol finished the tequila off, and Seungkwan grimaced. They sat in silence awhile, comfortable but pained. “Maybe we should send him flowers,” Seungcheol grumbled.

Seungkwan started to shake, and Seungcheol thought he was crying at first. It wasn’t until he started wheezing that Seungcheol realized he was laughing. He broke into high giggles, leaning into Seungcheol’s shoulder. 

“What? Did I say something funny? Why the hell is everyone laughing at me today?” He asked, pushing Seungkwan off of him.

“No, not really,” Seungkwan wheezed. “It’s a nice, um,  _ sentiment _ , but I don’t know if he’d like it very much.”

“Why not? Who doesn’t like flowers, that’s stupid.”

“Maybe someone who just had a gun levelled at him by the leader of a gang named after one?” Seungcheol went silent, which only sent Seungkwan into peals of laughter. 

“Maybe a fruit basket then,” Seungcheol suggested. Seungkwan cackled even louder. He finally made his way to his feet and pulled Seungcheol up with him. Seungcheol’s head swam as the alcohol in his blood rushed through his extremities. It wasn’t quite enough to dull the pain in his knuckles where they had made contact with Hansol’s brow bone. Seungkwan caught him staring at them and took Seungcheol’s bloody hand in his own. 

“Why didn’t you get yourself patched up earlier?” he asked, and Seungcheol just shrugged. If he opened his mouth for words, he was sure only vomit would come out. 

Seungkwan sighed, and pulled Seungcheol to the bathroom for some makeshift first aid. Seungcheol watched as he gently wiped crusted blood away. At this point, it was a mystery as to who’s it was. Seungcheol had lost himself in the fight. Everything before he pulled his gun was a red blur, like someone had switched off his consciousness and let a vicious animal roam free. He’d never felt like that, but something sharp grew in him after he saw Soonyoung’s face. It wasn’t until the gun in his hand shook that he realized it was fear.

“Are you afraid of me?” Seungcheol asked, and Seungkwan smiled. 

“Absolutely,” he replied. Seungcheol’s brow furrowed deeply. It made Seungkwan smile, the way he pouted like a child.

“Then why do you stay?”

Seungkwan finished wrapping both of his hands before replying. “Because I also respect you. I don’t have any time for petty criminals who think running an organization is a fun after-school project funded by dead daddy’s money. They’re losers. You’re a winner. And I don’t touch anything but the best.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly. There was something insidious in this man that he uncovered piece by piece in moments like these. It was maddening, how he’d fall apart in one instant and kill a man in the next, his tears barely dry.

“Speaking of the best, we need to get you some better fucking tequila. That was absolute trash.”

“It was Patron!”

“ _ Trash _ .”

Seungcheol chuckled. It felt weird in his body, it had been so long since he had laughed. He kept going, forcing the noise out of his body. He tried to remember the last time something was funny, and he couldn’t. For the longest time, it had only been tragedy and mistakes and loss. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes, but he dabbed them away with the gauze on his hands. “I’m just so fucking tired,” he whispered. Seungkwan smiled softly, his eyes shining.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take a shot with sc in the comments


	8. Part 1: Lost Gurl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is going to be much longer, so im splitting it into two so i don't have to write it all in one sitting c: enjoy

It was Saturday night, and Club Vinyl was crowded wall to wall. After checking on the bar, Jun waded his way through a churning sea of bodies, shaking hands and kissing cheeks of devout regulars. He finally made it to the green room, only to find a similar scene as dancers tore through outfits. It was the busiest night of the week, and the best chance for extra tips on a new routine. Landline phones littered the walls and tables. Any that weren’t manned were ringing off the hook, their wealthy clients clawing for human warmth on a long weekend night.

Chan ran to Junhui as soon has he caught sight of him. “Why aren’t you on a phone, Chan? The longer they wait, the more money we lose.”

“It’s Nayoung. She left for a job and still hasn’t showed up at the client’s location,” Chan said. He looked panicked. He pointed back to a couch in the corner, where Hansol was speaking softly but firmly into a bright pink receiver as Joshua hovered over him. He caught sight of Junhui and waved him over, shaking his head.

“When did she leave?” Jun asked.

“Over an hour ago,” Hansol whispered. He kept his hand over the microphone and Jun could hear an angry voice still rambling through the speaker. “The client’s reasonable, but he’s still pissed.”

“Nayoung is never late,” Chan said. “She always sends her check in text at fifteen minutes early, on the dot. It’s actually kind of weird.”

Junhui chewed on his lip. “Who’s the client? Do we trust him?”

“He’s anonymous, but he’s safe. He’s a frequent regular with spotless reviews. He wouldn’t do anything sketchy.” Joshua shook his head. “But he’s not fucking happy.”

“Then send another girl over there, quick!”

“He doesn’t want another girl,” Chan whined.

“Then send another boy over there! Nayoung will turn up soon, I’m sure.”

“I already suggested our entire list.” Hansol shrugged. “It’s Nayoung or bust.”

Junhui swore. “We’ve got to find her. Joshua, trace her steps to the rendez-vous spot. See if you can find her along the way, or talk him into a reasonable deal.”

Hansol raised his hand. “I want to take this one,” he whispered, still holding the phone.

“I appreciate the initiative, but I’d really rather Joshua take this,” Junhui sighed.

“Please Jun, let me take this,” Hansol begged. He handed the phone over to Chan as Jun pulled him aside. “I’m so tired of phone duty, let me go! I’ve been the one talking to the client and everything, I could reason with him.”

Junhui stood firm. “You’re still healing, it could be dangerous.”

“It’s been a week, I’m totally fine!”

“It’s still no!” Junhui rolled his eyes as Hansol pouted. Joshua joined them and put his hand on Jun’s chest. “Help me out here, Josh. I don’t have time for this.”

“I think he should go,” Joshua said simply. Both Hansol and Jun looked at him in shock, but he just continued to draw slow circles on Junhui’s shirt. “He’s been cooped up far too long for a boy like him. He needs some fresh air.”

“But—”

“Jun,” he said softer. “Trying to protect him is only going to make him hurt himself more later.”

Junhui sighed but finally gave in. Hansol beamed, hugging Jun with Joshua still sandwiched between them before grabbing his coat. “I won’t let you down, I promise!” He yelled back as he ran out the door.

“Do you have your knife?!” Jun called, but he was already gone. 

Joshua smiled. “She probably just got lost with a dead phone. He’ll be fine, Jun. ”

He dropped his head onto Joshua’s shoulder. “He better be.”

 

There was no sign of Nayoung along the fastest route to the rendez-vous. Hansol doubled back to check side alleys and alternate routes, but still nothing. Nayoung never strayed from well lit main roads, but Hansol had to be sure. He had to be completely thorough on his first night back on the job.

When Jun had first hired Hansol, it was for security. He had found Hansol beating another boy close to death in a back alley as men made bets. He was high off cocaine and desperate for enough cash to keep Chan and his addiction fed. He was vicious, and refused to join Jun until he was sure Chan would be safe. He felt like a different person looking back on those memories, as if something dark had possessed his body just to make it through the day. 

Now they both had income, an apartment Jun owned across the street from Club Vinyl, and Hansol couldn’t want for more. It was dangerous sometimes during Call runs, but Hansol didn’t mind. He’d seen much worse than dirty Calls in the makeshift fight clubs Jun had dragged him from, but he never told Jun that. 

He finally made it to the rendez-vous, an upscale apartment on the top floor of a bougie complex. He shot Jun a text before knocking on the door. He adjusted the lapels of his denim jacket, making sure the record-shaped enamel pin on the left one shone out. “Who is it?” A voice called out from the apartment.

Hansol grinned wide. “I’m with the Club Kidz!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE PRISTIN FOR YOUR LIFE


	9. Part 2: Lost Boi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seungkwan is 25, and Hansol is 21.

The door popped open with a click, expensive hydraulics carrying it back into the room. Hansol hesitated a moment before stepping into the dark entryway. With a soft beep, the door slid closed behind him. Without the fluorescent light flooding in from the hallway, he was in complete darkness.

He cleared a growing lump in his throat before calling out. He got no response save for the creak of leather from somewhere inside the apartment. His hand closed around the knife in his hand as footsteps clicked towards him. 

“I said I didn’t want a replacement.” The voice was much closer than Hansol expected it to be, and he jumped. The knife in his hand clattered to the floor and the man chuckled. Hansol could feel breath gently on his face, but couldn’t make out a face. “You don’t need to arm yourself. I won’t hurt you,” the man purred.

“I’m not a replacement! I’m security,” Hansol said louder than he intended. The man chuckled again, and footsteps retreated back into the apartment. His eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and he could just make out the outline of a figure about his own size. If it came to it, Hansol could take him down. 

“That’s too bad. You’ve got a nice voice.” Hansol shuddered. He fumbled in the darkness for a light switch near the door, a lamp, anything. “Are you the one I spoke to on the phone?”

“Yeah, that was me. Look I’m real sorry about Nayoung, but could you please turn on a light? Joshua may trust you, but I don’t.”

“What’s your name, kid?”

Hansol bit his lip before answering, “Hansol, sir.” He could just make out the outline of his knife on the floor beside him. He kept one eye on it and the other on the figure leaning against a low couch shape.

There was a long pause, and Hansol was sure the man had left the room before he finally responded, “You...Club Kidz. You have a confidentiality policy, yes?”

“Of course. If face-to-face contact is ever made with a client, the club member must never reveal their identity, even to other club members, on sworn pain of death,” Hansol recited.

The man chuckled, but it was slightly higher; almost a giggle. It made Hansol’s skin crawl. “How convenient. Have you ever broken that oath?”

“Never, sir. Your identity is safe with me.”

“Absolutely safe?”

“I swear on my life.”

“You seem like the kind of man to mean that sort of thing,” The man mused. With a dramatic clap of his hands, the lights in the apartment flashed to life. They blinded Hansol momentarily, but the man’s back slowly came into focus as it walked away. “A drink? Anything you like.”

“A coffee,” Hansol responded absently. His eyes were scanning the room as they watered, searching for threats or traps. As far as he could see, it was just the two of them in the open, modern apartment. It was sparingly decorated; the main area contained only a white fur rug and a white leather couch facing an expansive flat screen TV on a vaulted wall. There was a small karaoke machine and game console on the shelf below it. The man still stood with his back to Hansol in the kitchen, fixing their drinks. He wore a white cabled sweater over tight fitting jeans, his house slippers also a blinding white. Hansol slipped off his shoes, swiping his knife from the floor as he did.

“I hope espresso is alright, it’s all I have.” Hansol grunted in response. “Why don’t you sit on the couch, I’ll bring it to you after I’m done.”

Hansol glanced at the couch and down at himself. Something about the contrast between sterile white and ripped up jeans made him uneasy. It felt like he was leaving smudges by just looking at it. “No thanks, I’m good standing.”

The man shrugged without turning back. “Your loss. At least join me at the counter then.”

Hansol climbed onto a stool at the kitchen island. The kitchen was off to the left, the counter and stove where the man worked facing a spotless metallic backwash. 

“Are you ever going to turn around? I said your identity is safe,” Hansol pouted. “My friend is missing, you know. A little respect would be nice”. 

The man stopped his hands on two small coffee cups. Hansol caught sight of them mirrored in the backwash. “Please excuse me if I seem mistrustful. Everything’s just a bit...delicate,” the man sighed.  He put his elbows on the counter, and looked up.

In one moment, Hansol’s eyes locked with the other man’s in his reflection. In the next, Hansol was vaulting the kitchen island with his knife in hand, a basket of apples tumbling to the floor. The man deftly caught his wrist and used Hansol’s own momentum to slam him against the stove, knife behind his back. Hansol cried out in pain and dropped the knife between them. “You fucker!” He screamed. “What did you do with Nayoung?!”

The man clicked his tongue. “See, this is why I said delicate…”

“Tell me where she is! NOW!”

The man sighed, locking Hansol’s shoulder with one hand and leaning the other against the counter. His sweater sleeve rode up just slightly to reveal a tattoo on the inside of his wrist: a bouquet of daisies. “I’m not going to hurt you, Hansol. And I didn’t hurt Nayoung. If you will just  _ calm down _ and listen, I will tell you everything I know.” Hansol hedged his bets. The Daisy’s hold was strong, and he didn’t fancy dislocating his shoulder just to escape. Besides, he’d get just a few steps to the door before the bastard would pull a gun from somewhere. The place was probably stocked full of them.

“There are no guns in the apartment, I just want to talk like men,” The Daisy reasoned, reading his mind in a instant. “Please?”

Hansol relaxed an inch and nodded. The man smiled, releasing him. He was sure to grab the knife before Hansol could though, slipping it into his back pocket before leading Hansol to the couch. “My name is Boo Seungkwan,” the man explained. He looked at Hansol with soft eyes, but they felt utterly condescending. The man may have saved his face from being blasted away, but he’d also left him for dead. “And yes, I am a Daisy.”

“I gathered that. Now where the fuck is Nayoung?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit,” Hansol spat, and Seungkwan recoiled. As well as he could defend himself, he still seemed wary of Hansol’s movements. 

“I really don’t, and that’s the truth. I swear it.”

“On what?”

The corner of Seungkwan’s mouth twitched before he became solemn. “I swear it on my life.”

Hansol squinted, looking deep into Seungkwan’s eyes for any shred of deceit. They seemed sincere, doe-eyed and swimming with— flecks of hazel? Hansol tore away, looking out the huge picture windows onto the cityscape below. He could almost spot Club Vinyl, tucked in an alley between warehouses and office spaces. “I believe you don’t know where she is. But I don’t believe you had nothing to do with her being missing.” He turned back to Seungkwan who sat perched on the edge of the couch. He seemed genuinely concerned for Nayoung, if nothing else.

“I don’t, I can promise you. My organization, however…”

“...Has its hands in fucking everything.”

Seungkwan grimaced. “I can’t promise anything, but if Nayoung doesn’t show up in the next three days, I’ll look into it and share what I can. And if she does come back, send her my way. We’ll have a nice long talk.”

Hansol shudder at the thought of what that might imply. “Then I guess I’m done here,” he said, and held out his hand. Seungkwan reached to take it. “No, you idiot! My knife! Gimme back my knife.” Seungkwan pouted, but reached into his back pocket. In any other context, it might look cute. But Hansol was still shaken, his old injuries from the week before itching with trauma as looked down at Seungkwan. Had they fought in the parking lot? Was Seungkwan even there before the gun was pulled? It was all a blur. 

Seungkwan held out the switchblade, but pulled back at the last second. “Why don’t you stay?” He asked. “Just a bit longer.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“I did pay for at least another three hours.”

“I’m not having sex with you, you fucking pervert.”

Seungkwan laughed, light and melodic. “I wasn’t planning on it, I promise. But you’ve barely touched your coffee.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Are you sure? It’s very expensive. Junhui knows where you are, doesn’t he? And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to disappoint him. Imagine what he’d think, you losing an employee  _ and  _ a client?” Seungkwan smiled wryly. 

“That’s blackmail!”

Seungkwan feigned shock. “Is it? Oh my! I surely have no familiarity with anything as  _ nefarious  _ as blackmail…” He patted the couch beside him happily. “Just talk with me, will you? I promise I won’t do anything to you. Well, if you don’t want me to.”

Hansol gave in after a few moments, crossing his arms tight over his chest as he flopped onto the pristine couch.

Seungkwan smiled. “That’s a good boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more like pristin couch am i right *waits desperately for someone to laugh at my grandma-fan jokes*


	10. Dusty

The Call job drop date was tomorrow. Blueprints and plans were sprawled haphazardly between coffee cups on a card table, a messy ocean landscape of artificial blue and sticky note islands. Jihoon rested his forehead in the sea, hoping with each heavy blink he’d get back some of the rest he’d lost. It had been so long since they’d run an actual job, and the logistics were nauseating. As Jun had loaded his kid into a taxi that Call day, Jihoon grabbed the phone before anyone had gotten any ideas. Mother’s voice on the other side of the line still haunted him.

_ It’s been a while, Jihoon. So nice to hear a familiar voice. _

He said nothing but a brusk greeting, and he heard her sigh long and low. 

_ Dusty. 294. Goodbye Moon. Umbrella. But I miss you honey… come back to me.  _

With that, he’d slammed the receiver back on it’s hook and quickly scrawled the words and numbers onto an old receipt crumpled in his pocket. The Yankees peeled out of the parking garage as victors. He stared down at the receipt now the eye of a storm across the table. The job seemed easy enough, but he had to be certain; the shop wasn’t doing well enough to miss this payout. 

He felt a hand land softly on one shoulder and he flinched into it as something cold and wet touched the other. He turned to find Seokmin smiling down at him, all eye creases, as he pressed an iced americano into Jihoon’s hand. 

“G’morning boss. You been here all night?” Seokmin pouted. He set to work clearing the old coffee cups from the table.

“Don’t let Wonwoo hear you call me that,” Jihoon snickered.

“Call you what?” Wonwoo strode in and slumped next to Jihoon at the table. His hair was wet, and it splashed a few drops onto the table. Jihoon shielded it with his body, gathering papers underneath him.

“God damn it, do any of you know how to  _ dry  _ your fucking hair?” Jihoon said, exasperated. Wonwoo just shook his head like a wild dog, showering Jihoon in water and leave in conditioner. Jihoon cackled and shoved Wonwoo’s head away with weak hands. Porcelain clinked softly as Seokmin ducked out of the room.

Wonwoo pulled a small Altoids tin from his pocket. “We’re set for tomorrow, right? Why you still pouring over this?” He took a joint from the tin and popped the end in his mouth, but Jihoon snatched it before he could light up. 

“Not in the shop, a million times…” Jihoon clicked his tongue and turned back to business. “We’ve got 80% of all possible hit points covered. You and Jeonghan are flanking the caravan to and from the exchange, while Seokmin and I trail the customer in case there’s trouble. Minghao’s our eagle from this building here—” he slapped a map of the bay docks with his coffee-less hand, “With eyes and ears on the swap. If things go worse than bad, Jeonghan will be slapped up with wires for an easy anonymous tip or blackmail.”

“Dusty, huh? That mean we’ve got Cubans?”

“You bet. And I don’t wanna be racist, but—”

“Then don’t fucking say it,” Jeonghan chimed in. Jihoon turned to see him slumped in the doorway, beer in hand. 

“Isn’t it like...eight in the morning?” Wonwoo asked, slightly disgusted.

“Or is it eight in the last night?” Jeonghan grinned smugly as if he’d quoted scripture word for word and hopped up on the kitchenette counter with a drunken groan. “Why am I the one getting wired, again?” he whined. “Cubans’ will see that shit a  _ mile _ away.”

“Is that not racist?”

“Shuddup and answer the question.”

“Because...Damn Minghao said something about machismo, probably. I don’t know, Minghao!” He called out to the shop where Minghao was fixing the busted card reader. Minghao popped his head in. His overgrown mullet was pulled back with a pink hair band and face made up of mainly safety goggles.

“What are you…? You know what, nevermind. Why are we wiring Jeonghan?”

“Statistically, he has the best chance for a clear reception based on the positioning map outlined in your plans. He’s also the prettiest. Heterosexual men get incredibly uncomfortable when asked to pat down a member of the same sex whom they feel a sexual attraction to, and end up doing a terrible job. It short-circuits their toxic masculinity, and in turn, their grabby hands.” Minghao groped the air with gloved hands to illustrate.

“...Thanks, I guess?” Jeonghan finally said. “But why wire anyone at all? Can’t you pick up voices just fine with that crazy microphone of yours?”

“Her name is Bat-Eagle!” Minghao scoffed. He thought for a moment and shrugged. “But wiring is more aesthetically pleasing.”  He whipped back to his task without another word. The lights in the shop flickered slightly and Minghao cursed. Jihoon decided to leave that for later.

“Anyways,” Jihoon drawled, “You’ll be wired.”

“So all our bases are covered?” Wonwoo said. A second joint was dangling from his mouth, so Jihoon snatched it, too. Wonwoo didn’t skip a beat. “So why did you stay up all night then? Why aren’t you asleep yet? The last thing I need is you passing the fuck out on location.”

“Twenty percent!” Jihoon yelled. “We still have at  _ least _ twenty percent of possible exits, entries, and ambush points uncovered no matter how I position everyone. And that’s just out of the possible outcomes I’ve found, there could be more. If only we had just one more guy, just a couple more guys maybe…” He shook his head. That was always the problem. He was so used to planning for eight, ten men. Five was still a riddle, even after this long.

“But we don’t. You just have to trust that we’re not fucking dipshits,” Jeonghan said. “And last time I checked, not a damn person in this place is a dipshit. Minghao and Seokmin are something, but they ain’t dipshits. ...What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“That’s the nicest thing I think I’ve ever heard you say,” Wonwoo mused. Jeonghan rolled his eyes, full of drama. He finished off his beer and hopped down from the counter. “I’m just being nice because I’m  _ drunk _ ,” he seethed, and wobbled out of the room.

“You’re worried about me, but not about him?” Jihoon asked.

“I’m always worried about you,” Wonwoo replied. Jihoon laughed, but Wonwoo didn’t. 

Seokmin cleared his throat from the doorway. “I agree with Jeonghan,” he shrugged. “We’ve got this, Jihoon. You need to go to bed.”

“It’s already morning, I—”

“ _ Bed _ , Jihoon,” Wonwoo agreed. He pushed Jihoon out his chair and towards the stairwell. “Make sure he actually closes his eyes for once, will yah?” He shot towards Seokmin.

Seokmin smiled weakly. “I can certainly try,” he replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minghao the fuck u doin boi


	11. Hospital Beds

Mingyu rang his hands at the end of the hospital bed. He cursed himself for not bringing his phone, a book, anything. It was taking far longer for Soonyoung to wake up than he’d predicted, and the sight of the so-called Massacre Man deep in a peaceful, childlike sleep was giving him the creeps. But Seungcheol had demanded he head out as soon as the hospital was open for visitors, and ushered him into a cab before Mingyu could even grab a decent shirt. He was stuck in the loose grey t-shirt he’d slept in and suit slacks he shoved on as he ran out the door. He was just glad there weren’t any blood stains on them.

Seungcheol got word the previous night that Soonyoung was conscious again, and making a ruckus in the hospital they’d rushed him to that Call day. He’d been in a medically induced coma for six days, and Seungcheol was a drunken wreck for all of them. The only reason he wasn’t here himself was an unmissable client meeting later that morning.

Soonyoung stirred, and Mingyu rushed to his side. He put his hand on Soonyoung’s and the man shot up in bed, clenching Mingyu with an iron grip. Mingyu talked him down, cooing him back against the pillows that he propped up with his free hand. Soonyoung finally released him and Mingyu shook the pain out of his wrist.

“Mingyu?” Soonyoung mumbled, and Mingyu nodded.

“It’s me. Good to see you awake, we nearly lost you there.”

Soonyoung shook his head angrily. “I was just resting my eyes.” Mingyu chuckled, gingerly placing his hand back on Soonyoung’s. “Where’s Seungcheol?”

Mingyu bit his lip. “At a meeting. Sorry, it’s just me.” 

Soonyoung patted Mingyu’s head, his IV swinging gently in Mingyu’s downcast vision. Mingyu sighed, taking his next words carefully. Soonyoung was a bag of gunpowder with firecracker handles. “The people who… who you met, at the location. Seungcheol really needs to know who they were.”

Soonyoung’s hand tightened on Mingyu’s hair slightly before he dropped it to the bed. “Just one,” he mumbled.

“Just one what?”

“Just one man.” Soonyoung smirked, his eyes incredulous. “Or at least he looked like one. But he didn’t act like one. That man was a wild fucking animal.”

“Did you recognize him?”

“I’d never seen him before in my life. He was all charm when he walked up to us; silk shirt, shined shoes, slick hair.”

“Like a Yankee?”

“He was too expensive for a Yankee. Too composed for Jun’s crew.”

“The Club Kidz,” Mingyu offered.

Soonyoung laughed, but stopped short as he held the side of his waist in pain. He sucked in air before continuing. “That’s what they’re calling themselves, huh? Jesus. Yeah, he was something else. But as soon as he saw my tattoo... Man, he lost his damn mind.”

“Do you think he’s an ex-member? Someone like—”

“No,” Soonyoung said firmly. “Absolutely not.” He pulled himself up to a sitting position with a grimace. “Look I know ‘Cheol’s not gonna like it, but he had such an average face that I couldn’t even begin to describe it to you. Pretty, but average.” He leaned into Mingyu, his breath hot on Mingyu’s neck as he struggled. Mingyu tried to put a hand on his back to support him, but he waved it away. “But listen good to this,” Soonyoung said softly. 

Mingyu nodded, nervous for all sorts of reasons as Soonyoung stared him dead in the eye. His eyes blazed, the whites of them stark against his bruised skin.

“As soon as I see that son of a bitch, you’ll know it’s him. No matter where we are, no matter how far he is. You want to know why?” Soonyoung asked.

“Yes,” Mingyu replied. He did not want to know.

“Because after you blink, I’ll be elbow deep in his chest, ripping his still beating heart out with my bare hands as he screams for any god he can think of. That’s why.” And with that, Soonyoung sat back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

Mingyu cleared his throat. “Noted,” he muttered. “Anything else for Seungcheol?”

Soonyoung shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. Surely visions of bloody ends danced in his head. Mingyu slowly backed out of the room, closing the hospital door without a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lil shorter today, gomen ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	12. Reel Luv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was my birthday on saturday, so i've been afk all weekend. backlogged chapters coming soon i promise!

Hansol awoke the next morning with a sharp pain in his back, his vision still muddy with sleep. He sat up in a jolt, wincing as his back spasmed. He panicked for a moment, his surroundings foreign, before sighing and sitting back against the cool leather of a white sofa. 

He must have fallen asleep at Seungkwan’s place. The previous night felt so foreign now; he and Seungkwan had talked for hours, and when Hansol’s eyes grew heavy Seungkwan merely gave him a blanket and a pillow. He even placed Hansol’s knife by his head on the coffee table. “A show of good faith,” he had said, before tucking in the reluctant boy. 

As comfortable as it was for a late night chat, the couch he’d slept on did not do wonders for his spine. He’d have to request a massage from one of the girls when he got back. He thought of the girls, and thought of Nayoung. As he checked through the messages on his phone, he only grew more worried as Junhui confirmed that she was still missing, and Hansol was to return as soon as possible. The morning sun was high in the sky, blazing through the wide windows of Seungkwan’s apartment. Above the city like this, he felt like one of the clouds, or some cosmic being who lived in the sky and among the stars. It was a feeling he wished he had time to get used to.

As he shrugged on his jacket, Seungkwan quietly slipped from his bedroom. His eyes and face were puffy with sleep, almost outshining the sun in a morning glow. Their conversation from last night came rushing back. Hansol flushed. He’d nearly bared all of his soul to a stranger in small talk that turned truth in the early morning twilight. Seungkwan wasn't a stranger to Hansol anymore, which made the words that had come out of his mouth when they were completely sober all the more embarrassing in the light of day. 

“Are you leaving already?” Seungkwan called, and Hansol stopped his hand on the knife. He breathed deeply once before pocketing it and turning back. He was stone cold, duty bound,. The moon reflecting Seungkwan’s too bright sun. 

“I've got work to do.”

Seungkwan nodded, his brow furrowed. They both had work. They both had to leave this purgatory eventually, back in place amongst the ranks.

“It was nice to meet you, Seungkwan. I hope this makes up for our mistakes, and that you will continue to use our services in the future. Goodbye.” Hansol started towards the door. Seungkwan strode to catch up with him.

“Will I see you again?” He whispered harshly. Hansol’s facade nearly broke.

“I hope, for both of our sakes, that you never do.” Hansol threw open the door and left.

 

The late morning sun beat a heavy heat on the city. Hansol shrugged off his jacket soon after leaving the building. His phone rang as he ambled, and he ignored it for three rings before finally giving in.

“Where the hell have you been?” Jun’s voice was rough and strained.

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Answer the damn question, Hansol. Did you find Nayoung?”

Hansol sighed, rubbing at the tweak in his back. “No, I didn't find her. But I saved the client, so at least there's that.”

“Oh,” Junhui said softly. He cleared his throat. “Well, I appreciate the, um...sacrifice you made for the team. You’re a strong man.”

“Jesus Jun, I didn’t sleep with the guy. We just… talked.” Somehow that sounded worse than sex in Hansol’s ears. “Anyway, I’m headed back to club so don’t get your panties wadded. I should be there in less than an hour.”

“Make it ten minutes.” Junhui hung up, and Hansol shoved the phone back in his pocket. 

“Guess I’m running,” he chuckled.

 

“That boy’s going to be the death of me,” Jun muttered. He slumped back against a booth couch as he oversaw rehearsal. The girls were having a special performance this coming week, and everything had to be perfect. Special guests were attending.

“There really hasn’t been anything from Nayoung?” Joshua asked. He sipped lightly on a whiskey sour; it was eleven in the morning. 

“Not anymore!” Chan shouted from the stage. He patted a nervous looking girl on the arm before running down to the booth, towels and water bottles still jostling in his hands. “I’ve been talking to the girls, and… they’ve been hearing things.”

Jun jumped to his feet, but Joshua laid a soft hand on his arm. “Lets just hear him out,” Joshua hummed. “Getting angry at the girls does nothing.”

“They didn’t even know Nayoung was gone,” Chan explained. “It wasn’t until this morning when Nayoung didn’t show up to rehearsal that they started putting things together.”

“What do they know?” Jun asked. He slid back into the both, and Joshua’s hand slid to his thigh.

“There’s been a client that consistently requests Nayoung every Monday and Wednesday night. It’s not that weird, I know, but the girls say Nayoung’s usually gone for  _ hours.  _ The girls only get ASAP quickies on weekdays; in and out, barely more than a handie.”

Joshua grimaced. “I still can’t believe you trust this child to work my phones.”

“But the client records are consistent,” Chan continued. “The same client every time, at the same time, for eight hours at a time.”

“Eight hours?” Junhui exclaimed. “I didn’t even think we made the girls entertain that long, that’s fucking impossible! That’s outrageous, that’s  _ huge  _ amounts of money.”

“That’s politician amounts of money,” Joshua mused.

“Fuck, you don’t think she got caught up in something, did you?” Junhui swiped the glass from Joshua’s hand and took a swig. 

Chan shook his head. “I know it’s not a politician.  _ She _ doesn’t have that way of talkin’ on the phone with us.”

“She?” Junhui took another hearty swig of his stolen drink. “Not to be that guy, but where the hell is all this money coming from then?”

Chan shrugged. “All I know is that apparently Nayoung was always really happy when she came home from those appointments. She’d be on her phone the rest of the night, grinning at it and shit. She kept saying that she was ‘almost done,’ and never said anything else about it.”

Junhui hung his head between his hands. Nayoung was their best girl. No one ran jobs like she did, bouncing back with lightning recovery and tips so big Junhui barely had to pay her. But it was clear what had happened, and there was nothing any of them could do.

“That’s it then,” he declared. “Nayoung isn't coming back.”

The club went silent. Jun stood and made his way to the front of the stage. He ran his hand over the edge of it before scratching at the back of his neck.

‘What do you mean?” Chan called. “How can you be so sure?”

Junhui smiled. “Because she’s fallen in love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall even i dont know whos doin the sex 0.o


	13. Hello Sunshine (Part 1)

They arrived on location early, so Wonwoo had Jeonghan and Seokmin do a thorough sweep. The docks were clear, save for a sleeping vino that Seokmin guided to the bus stop nearby. Minghao started to climb up the nearby warehouse. Jihoon pointed out the fire escape leading to and from the roof, but Minghao ignored him and continued to scale the building with horrific agility. Soon he was out of sight, posted up on the roof with Bat-Eagle. Seokmin and Jeonghan returned to their stations after ensuring they were alone, and everyone was in place.

Jeonghan shivered and fidgeted with his jacket as he and Wonwoo waited for their clients to get out of their cars. They’d escorted two black Cadillac sedans to the drop as instructed, but hadn’t had even a glance of the drivers’ faces. They were to rendez-vous face to face at T-16 minutes until drop. Wonwoo glanced around at the storage containers, just in case. The one directly to their left was hastily spray painted with “294” in blocky stencils. He could barely make it out in the early morning twilight. It flattened everything into silhouettes and paper dolls, barely touched by the city lights. He checked his watch: 5:44 AM. They’d make first contact in exactly one minute. 

“You good, Jeonghan?” Wonwoo asked. Jeonghan had his jacket wrapped around him tightly as he looked around.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I’ve just got a weird feeling.”

“About the drop?”

“No, just...it feels like someone’s watching us. I know there isn’t, I checked myself, but… I don’t like it. In my gut.”

The rumbling engines of luxury cars echoing against the industrial metal came to a halt. Jeonghan’s gut would have to wait; it was 5:45.

A slender gentleman stepped out of the first sedan. His suit shimmered slightly in the pale light, cutting an impeccably tailored fit. He was followed quickly by a monstrous tank of a body guard from the second sedan, similarly fitted in a flawless ensemble.

“Why are we even here, then…” Jeonghan muttered.

“Shut up.” Wonwoo extended his hand to the man, who shook it. Without letting go, the man stared Wonwoo down without a word for several seconds. After seemingly completing his examination, the man smiled and snapped at the Tank. He brought his master a sleek black suitcase, which the Gentleman handcuffed to himself and then handed Wonwoo the key. He walked away, leaned against the hood of his car, and deftly lit a cigarette with his free hand.

Wonwoo’s hand tingled as they waited for the second party in silence. He breathed in cool ocean air and the acidic tang of the Gentleman’s cigarettes. How long had it been since he’d been this close to the sea? He longed to tear his jacket off and dive into the icy water, just to feel something other than the anxiety simmering in his stomach. 

After a silent eternity, the first ray of morning light shot over the horizon, bringing with it a white travel van skirting around the corner of the warehouse.  _ Hello Sunshine. _ Wonwoo checked his watch: 6:01 AM. It was time.

A stout man jumped from the driver’s side of the van, lumbering up to the Gentleman with a sneer. Four other men in white shirts and tight pants climbed out of the back, flanking their leader. Each one slung around an Uzi. 

Wonwoo’s mouth went coppery. His boys looked mean, but fists and bats were nothing against sub-machine guns. Mother’s colleagues had no obligation to follow their rules, and Call operations made their everyday work look like schoolyard tussles. 

The shorter man lit a half-finished cigar, and the two leaders smoked at each other for a few minutes. After the sun started to light long shadows across them, the Gentleman moved first. He held his hand out behind him, and Wonwoo hustled to it. He fumbled with the key slightly before dropping it into the Gentleman’s hands, and the Uzi men laughed at him. Wonwoo fumed, but stepped back with grace when the Gentleman waved him away. 

As soon as the suitcase met the Cigar man’s hands, the Tank moved around to the back of the van. With ease, he lifted several bricks of cocaine at a time and transferred them to his own sedan.  _ Dusty _ . It took him a solid minute to move the whole order, and the Cigar man took the time to count out bands in the suitcase. 

As quickly as they had arrived, the Cigar man and his henchman piled back into the van and peeled away. Wonwoo breathed a sigh of relief. After a moment, two V8’s picked up and followed the van into the morning. 

The Gentleman turned to Wonwoo with a smile, and shook his hand once more. It was gentler this time, and as Wonwoo pulled his hand away he felt a stack of bills folded neatly in his hand. The Gentleman got into his car and started off, but the Tank lingered a moment. He eyed Jeonghan, still tightly swathed in his jacket. His brow furrowed as he landed on something just below Jeonghan’s collar. With a huff, Jeonghan cleared his throat and flashed the man a dazzling angelic smile. The Tank flushed, quickly got in his car, and disappeared out of sight.

Wonwoo counted the bills in his hand. They were lucky.  _ Extremely  _ lucky. Not all Umbrella jobs went so smoothly. More often than not, deals would go sour and their lives were expendable in the protection of their clients. Wonwoo’s first Umbrella went just that way, and he nearly left in a body bag. His hand rested instinctively on his belt. It didn’t always feel so empty. 

Minghao scrambled back down to the asphalt, grumbling about “a waste of time” and “so much medical tape.” Wonwoo took a quick breath before slinging a leg over his bike. Jeonghan followed suit. Their job wasn’t done yet; Minghao saw them off as they quickly closed the distance to the Cadillacs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another two part! sorry for the awkward break, but the second half is spicy ;))))


	14. Hello Stranger (Part 2)

Jeonghan loved nothing more than riding. It was a thrill he had yet to find an equal to, and the rising sun made it all the better. The rumble of V8’s flanking Cadillacs ripped through the morning air like a serrated knife, too loud to be dimmed by Jeonghan’s helmet. 

“All good on your end, Jeonghan?” The only thing that came through louder than his engine was Jihoon in his bluetooth. They kept an open channel on all riding escorts, just in case. 

“Everything clear.”

“Did you guys see that sun?” Wonwoo sighed.

Jeonghan chuckled.  _ What a fucking romantic.  _ “She’s sexy, alright.”

The rumble overtook them again, and Jeonghan leaned back in his seat. He wove through lanes in front of the Cadillacs, the morning commute traffic far behind them on the freeway. His body moved without him, every shift and lean embedded in his body like a lifelong dance. After all these years, his body was made for this. Hung back from the handlebars like this, he could almost fall asleep.

A distance cough of exhaust woke him from his stupor. He was so lulled by the music of his engine that the slightest change was unmistakable. It sent a small twist through his stomach. It was that feeling again, in his gut; like eyes were boring holes in the back of his neck where there were no eyes to be found. He swerved slightly to the right, letting the cars pass slightly to look behind him.

There, barely a speck, was a car on the freeway behind them. It was an old beat up Honda Civic, white, looking barely kept together. It raced towards them, gaining speed at an alarming rate. Jeonghan swerved to the left. As the Honda gained on them, Jeonghan heard Wonwoo and Jihoon yelling through the Bluetooth but couldn’t make out any words. His heart was thumping too loudly, spurred on by his churning insides. He accelerated slightly. In one precise motion, the Honda slid between Jeonghan and the Cadillacs. Jihoon was screaming now. The Tank in the front car slammed his bready hand against the horn. In his rear view mirrors, Jeonghan could just make out someone in the passenger seat put on sunglasses before the car got impossibly closer. Jeonghan was at full speed now, 90 and climbing. The Honda stayed within a foot of him as they pulled further and further away from the caravan. 

“Will you all please shut up!” Jeonghan shouted and slammed off the chaotic argument echoing in his helmet. He had to time this exactly right. If he slowed down even a fraction, the Honda would clip him. His throttle was wide open. If he popped up to another gear, the clutch would stop him just long enough for the Honda to run him down. He took one breath, held it, and swerved to the right lane. He barely kept his bike in balance, using every ounce of strength in his body to stay upright at maniacal speeds. But he was alive, and he whipped his head around to catch a glimpse of the madman. 

He was right about the right side passenger wearing sunglasses, but still couldn’t get a good glimpse of the driver. He was far too distracted by the man in the backseat climbing near out of the window. They must have been going more than a hundred at this point, as they slowly pulled away from Jeonghan. 

Jeonghan’s breath caught as the man made eye contact with him. It was those eyes, the ones that had bored holes in him since before the sun rose that morning. Somehow Jeonghan knew he was the one that was watching them at the docks. The man smiled and blew Jeonghan a messy kiss, cackling as he slid from the window. Every move he made was sensual, carefree, slinking catlike back into his seat, never taking his eyes from Jeonghan. With a jerk, the car pulled away.

Jeonghan shifted down, far too shaken to maintain speed and chase after them. The caravan eventually caught up with him. His Bluetooth was beeping incessantly, and he finally answered it as Jihoon saddled up beside him.

“Who the hell was that?” Jihoon called. “Are you okay? Are we compromised?”

Jeonghan merely shook his head. “They didn’t want anything to do with the job.”

“How do know?” Wonwoo asked. “You can’t be sure.”

Jeonghan’s eyes followed the car’s rear end until it pulled out of site. “It was just some crazy fucking kids.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will men ever stop flirting with Jeonghan?  
> (in this universe? absolutely not)


	15. Coffee Mugs

Seungcheol would almost consider himself relaxed, if not for the sound of Mingyu’s foot incessantly tapping against the floor. It rattled the table enough to make his coffee ripple from three seats away. Seungkwan looked like he was suffering, seated right next to him. But Seungcheol let it be; if Mingyu wanted to thump his tail like a little puppy waiting on his master, then he was welcome to do so. The only other sound in the room was the occasional thud of ceramic on wood as the men drank morning in silence.

In one swift kick, the double doors at the back of the hall burst open and Seungcheol barely budged. Mingyu and a few others jumped nearly out of their chairs as Kwon Soonyoung strode in. He was in his shirt sleeves and impeccable fitted slacks, the first few buttons of his shirt falling open over a smooth expanse of skin. His eyes were fire, darting between downturned faces like a kid in a candy shop. He settled on an empty chair on the other side of Mingyu and grinned, almost giddy. Without breaking stride, Soonyoung stepped up onto the table, nearly crushed several mugs with a kick and a spin, and jumped down into the chair. He cleared gusteau from his throat. “I’m home,” he announced.

“First day back and already destroying property?” Seungcheol drawled.

“I didn’t even break anything,” Soonyoung pouted. He grabbed Mingyu’s empty mug. He weighed it back and forth between his hands a while, and then pitched it at the wall behind him. It shattered across the carpet into infinite pieces. He turned back to Seungcheol, wide-eyed and eager. “Now I have.”

By the time Seungcheol finished sighing, the staff had replaced Mingyu’s mug with one full of fresh coffee. Soonyoung grabbed that one too, but sipped at it gently instead. Mingyu was brought a third mug.

“So did I miss all the fun? I heard you shot a kid.”

Seungcheol’s knuckles went white around his mug handle. “I didn’t shoot anyone,” he snapped.

“Too bad,” Soonyoung shrugged. “Then I guess Mingyu’s got me all caught up.”

“Does he now?” Mingyu squirmed under Seungcheol’s gaze.

“Of course! He's been to see me e-ver-y-day. Unlike  _ some _ people who come...never.” Soonyoung’s voice was so slightly lilting, enough to unsettle but not enough to know why.

“ _ Everyday _ , you say? Not just the single day I told him to go? Not just the one  _ hour  _ necessary to retrieve information? I’m sure Mingyu didn’t waste precious time, my time, just to go candy-striping?”

The room went ice cold. Soonyoung chuckled. Go easy on the big guy, will you?” He clapped his hand on Mingyu’s shoulder. It buckled under the force. “Without his expert nursing, I wouldn’t be back before you too-day.” 

Seungkwan snickered, and it broke the heavy spell over the room. 

A few other men chuckled to themselves and Mingyu flushed. “I never visited more than an hour, sir. Never on the clock. All of my duties came first, sir.”

“Doo-ties are more important than me, Minnie?” Soonyong sang sadly, and Mingyu curled in on himself. It was an impressive feat for such a towering man to look so very tiny. The giggles grew louder.

Seungcheol’s mug clattered against the table, and the room fell silent once more. He forced pursed lips into a small smile. “Either way. It’s good to see you back, Soonyoung. That bastard will be dead soon enough.”

Soonyoung beamed. “I swear on the blood from my wrists, he will. I have a few leads.”

“A few? Care to share?”

Soonyoung ran his tongue over his teeth after a heavy swig of coffee. It was lazy, instinctual. Like a lion clearing blood from his palette.

“To be clear... _ ex-act-ly three. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me far too long to get up, but i was really struggling with where i wanted the story to go. it's technically after July, but I'm still finishing this thing! i finally have a ton of ideas, so expect some fast updates soon!
> 
> ps soonyoung is absolutely chaotic neutral and no one can tell me different


	16. Bby Boi

Junhui slammed the receiver back on the wall hook. He slammed it one, two, three more times before letting go. It dropped from the wall, dangling hanged by its cord. He slumped back onto the couch and held his head in his hands. 

Hey, Bossman…” Chan reached out hesitantly to hand him a beer. Junhui slapped it away, and the glass launched across the floor. Beer spilled out across the low coffee table and concrete. Chan jumped, his eyes wide. His shoulders started to shake. He swallowed down his breath, but his diaphragm convulsed, and a small ragged gasp escaped him. Junhui cursed softly as Chan started to hyperventilate. He pulled the smaller boy into his chest, smoothing small circles on his back.

“Shit, I’m sorry Chan. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. You’re okay, hey, hey now. You’re okay. You’re alright.” Chan’s breathing peaked quickly before beginning to slow. “You’re okay now, yeah? You’re safe.”

Chan sighed, nodding his head against Jun’s chest. He still clung to the silky red of Junhui’s shirt. 

“What the hell, man?” Hansol jogged in to the back room. The club music slapped through the open door before it closed behind him, muffling it into bass and reverb. “What did you do?”

“Jun didn’t do anything,” Chan mumbled, extracting himself from the arms around him. A guilty shot ran through Junhui’s heart, but he said nothing. “He’s got a right to be angry, I just got a little freaked out. It’s fine.”

Hansol sighed, unsatisfied. “It was another one, wasn’t it? Another one...left.”

“Disappeared,” Chan corrected. He started towards a towel on the table, but Hansol beat him to it and started mopping the beer up himself. Chan’s hands retreated towards each other. He picked at the cuticles on his left. “On the way to a job, like the others. We don’t know if they left, they just disappeared. Don’t blame them yet.”

“I’m not blaming them, it’s just… stations cleared out? Phone numbers changed? Seems pretty deliberate to me.”

“And pretty unlikely that six girls and three guys would fall in love in the span of a few weeks,” Junhui chimed in. 

“They could have fallen in love with each other?” Chan said softly.

Junhui wanted so badly to pinch a soft baby cheek, but refrained. “That’s still three people unaccounted for, not including Nayoung,” he said instead. “Even if we know her story… I’m not entirely sure she’s got nothing to do with this.”

Hansol dropped the now soaking towel back onto the table. “What’s that supposed to mean? Nayoung wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying Nayoung has a lot of sway over the escorts— or did, I suppose. But maybe she still does, maybe she’s out there...swaying people.”

Hansol scoffed. “She wouldn’t do that. She knows how essential this is to us. She wouldn’t just take people from us for no reason.”

“But maybe she does have a reason.” Junhui bit down hard on his lip as he thought. “The girls said she’d found someone right? Someone she fell in love with. I’ll be the first to tell you, people do crazy shit for love.” He scratched at the back of his neck and sighed. “Now maybe Nayoung wouldn’t take our employees on her own, but with someone with some influence over her, someone she  _ thinks _ is with her out of love...if they gained control over Nayoung, they’ve got control over everyone.”

Hansol moved in, lowering his voice. “Do you really think it could be everyone? You’ve done so good by us, Junhui. By all of us. There’s no way everyone would just give that up.”

“Nayoung did.” 

Hansol fell silent. A dancer broke the silence, knocking gently on the wall behind Hansol to announce her entrance. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said teasingly, “but there’s a  _ girl _ here to see Chan.”

Hansol nearly laughed out loud. “Wait, I’m sorry, run that by me again?”

Chan pouted. “I don’t know any girl.”

“Well apparently you do,” Junhui chuckled. “Have you been keeping things from us, Chan? How far you gone, little stud?”

Chan pouted harder. “Nothing! I don’t know any girl!”

“Methinks the lady—”

“Shut up, Hansol!”

Hansol looked a bit guilty as he shut himself up. Junhui waved Chan away. “As long as you don’t fall in love and leave us forever,” he said.

Chan gasped, truly offended. “I would never!” He shouted, and stomped out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little shorter than the usual kidz chapters but I HAVE TO STOP PLAYING FAVORITES


	17. Smokey

Jihoon looked around the table before him. He sat at the end of a sticky booth in a greasy diner. The red vinyl squeaked and groaned as Jeonghan and Seokmin engaged in a ferocious fry-launching war. Wonwoo rooted them on from the corner, huddled against the plastic partition with his own ammo stash. He shot his own fries every once in awhile to even out the fight and keep it going. Jihoon grimaced as he caught the eye of an employee staring daggers into their cacophonous mess. It was nearly three in the morning, and the diner was the only thing open after they’d finished roughing up some renegade thugs. Swing shift employees really shouldn’t expect anything different.

Jihoon smiled. It was rough going so much of the time, with egos clashing left and right that he nearly forgot moments like these. When four crazy riders somehow made a home for themselves amongst each other, put their pettiness aside just a little, and spent the times of their lives together. Jihoon spent so much time doubting himself, doubting his past, his mistakes, his choices, that he clung so desperately to moments like these. They were so precious, stowed away in his memory and in his confidence that yes, this was where he was supposed to be. With this ratty, rowdy wolf pack, he belonged.

A hand rested gently, hesitantly on his knee. It pulled him back from his memories like the falling tide, and he turned. Seokmin smiled gently at him. “We lost you for a second there. Where did you go?” Jeonghan had turned on his ally, and a savage civil war had broken out between him and Wonwoo. 

Jihoon rested his hand over Seokmin’s, and Seokmin flushed just slightly. “Nowhere but right here and now.” A fry bounced into Jihoon’s lap. Wonwoo froze, another fry guiltily poised to strike. Jihoon sighed. He swatted the fry to the floor. With a grin, he grabbed a handful of Jeonghan’s and reared back. The door of the diner slammed open.

Minghao burst in, the metal handle like a gunshot against drywall. He took off a bit of plaster, but didn’t stop. He flew to the booth, gasping for air as he collapsed against it.

Jihoon stood, mainly to avoid getting bowled over. “What the fuck, Minghao, you’re supposed to be watching the shop!” Minghao just gasped, his arms shaking as he strained to stay upright. It was as if he had ran the entire way from the shop to diner. Minghao hated exercise without a purpose, so there must have been a reason for him not to use his bike. Jihoon’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Mingming...what happened to the shop?” 

Minghao shuddered, finally looking up at Jihoon. His eyes and nose were bright pink and swollen. Blood mingled with tears and snot in streaks down his face as it trickled from a small gash on his forehead. It was swollen and purple, but fresh. Jihoon’s heart flipped into his throat once before dropping out onto the diner’s laminate floor. He took Minghao by the hand and dragged him out of the diner, the remaining three rushing close behind.

Jihoon felt the tears running from his helmet before he even reached the shop, somehow managing a messy parking job at the curb. Minghao nearly fell off the back of the bike, too exhausted to keep himself upright. A scream tore from Jihoon’s throat as he ripped off his helmet and ran. Wonwoo barely jerked him back in time. The Dirt Boys Barbershop was engulfed in flames.

Jihoon roared, pulling at Wonwoo’s hold. He had to tackle Jihoon into the gravel just to keep him from sprinting into the blaze. “Let me go!” he wailed, “Damn it! Let me go!”

Wonwoo wrapped his arms tightly around Jihoon’s torso. His knees stung where he’d hit the ground, and Jihoon’s fists sent rocks flying, but he didn’t dare stop.

“Let me go, you fucking bastard! Fuck you, let me go!”

“Don’t, don’t” Wonwoo sobbed against his back. “Don’t, you’ll  _ die. _ ”

“I don’t fucking care!” Jihoon was nothing more than an animal, his face wet as he bared his teeth against the pain and grief. Wonwoo barely heard Jeonghan shouting into his phone, and the sound of sirens echoing in the distance. Dokyeom just stood with Minghao huddled against him. Stock still, without a sound. 

 

By the time the firefighters had gained control, the shop was an empty shell. Black remnants of  memories hung in fragile bundles from the building’s framework. Jeonghan prayed that the next gentle breeze wouldn’t blow it all away. A crowd had gathered around the scene, just barely held back by tacky yellow tape. All of their faces looked so sad, but so eager to see just how bad someone else had it. They all wanted a story to tell their wives and husbands, some awful thing that happened to not-them, a reason to feel blessed in their monotonous lives.

All but one. It took Jeonghan a few passes to notice him, but once he did he saw nothing else. A pair of cheeky cat eyes were staring back at him, unwavering as firefighters and EMT’s sprinted between them. A cigarette dangled from the man’s mouth, lit and ashing onto the street. With one hand, he pulled it from his lips. He lifted his other hand to his face, and slowly blew Jeonghan a soft kiss.

Jeonghan threw the shock blanket from his shoulders as he leaped from the ambulance doors, sprinting towards the crowd. A few gasped in shock as he slammed into a reporter on the way. The bright light of a camera blinded him for a moment, and he rubbed at his eyes. When he looked up again, the man was gone. He pushed through the crowd, stumbling onto the sidewalk. He jogged up and down the block, but save for careless witnesses, the street was empty. Jeonghan slammed his hand into a wall, barely feeling the pieces of cement fall from his knuckles. If it took his life, his spirit, his soul, he didn’t care. He would kill the cat-eyed man with his bare fucking hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cried while writing not gonna lie
> 
> sorry

**Author's Note:**

> This big boi is my project for Camp Nanowrimo this year, so every day this month of July (that's right kids, every darn day) I'll be uploading a new chapter. This is only the second time I've attempted a chaptered fic so bear with me! And join me on this wild multi fandom ride ;)))


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